


Tell Me Don’t So I Can Crawl Back In

by Thesapphicmorty



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Depression, Incest, Literally so much angst, M/M, Mental Hospital, TW: Self Harm, this is my vent fic, tw: attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesapphicmorty/pseuds/Thesapphicmorty
Summary: Morty is sent to the mental hospital after trying to end his life, brought on by some rather troublesome feelings he has towards his grandpa. Rick deals with his own issues in the aftermath.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Tell Me Don’t So I Can Crawl Back In

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously: warning for self harm and attempted suicide!  
> Morty gets back from the hospital, and things are just how they always were.

He’s coming home today, 

Rick thinks solemnly as he tinkers with his latest invention. 

It’s been 10 days since Morty was admitted to St. Margaret’s Adolescent Psychiatric Hospital. No one in the family foresaw what had happened, though Rick had been suspicious of his mood for a few weeks. But no one knew what had happened within the young man’s mind to make him try to take his own life. 

Rick shudders at the memory, having been the one to find him. 

Rick was searching the house for his bottle of grey goose that had gone missing from his room. He found it in the upstairs bathroom, completely empty along with his bottle of sleeping pills that had gone missing 2 days earlier, also empty and a shirtless Morty passed out in the bathtub. Most disturbing, were the fresh cuts on his upper body; ‘Freak’ carved in his left bicep and ‘Disgusting’ on his stomach. 

It was a horrid experience getting him to the hospital, and even worse getting him to talk when we woke up. Rick huffs, remembering how he wouldn’t even let Rick in the room when he was talking to the psychologist. 

Well whatever was going with him, he’s obviously better enough to be trusted back at home. Rick is extremely nervous, what does he say to him? He obviously can’t be his normal prickish self and what if Morty needs space or won’t talk to him, or worse, does want to talk to him. 

Rick hates to admit, but he’s extremely worried. Sure he’s had his share of suicidal thoughts, but MORTY? He has no idea what could have drove him to his attempt. As far as Rick knows, and he knows everything about everything, Morty is just a normal horny idiot teenager. It’s the one question he can’t answer. 

Rick’s ears perk up as he hears the distinct sound of the front door opening and Beth excitedly greeting Morty, supposedly all fresh, new, and stable. He listens for a few moments, the sound of Morty’s voice, though he’d never tell him, is a soothing melody after so many day’s without its constant whiney tone. 

He decides only when Morty announces he’s going up to his room, to venture out of the garage to follow. He makes it wordlessly through the living room to the stairs, ignoring the stares from the rest of their family. He makes his way up and around the corner to spot Morty’s door, open, the boy sitting on his bed unpacking his plastic bag full of coloring sheets and gripped socks. 

Rick walks over to the door frame, hesitantly standing there, waiting for Morty to notice his presence. When he doesn’t, Rick gives a soft knock and a cough. Morty looks up at him, features obviously startled. Rick can see the slight bags under Morty’s eyes and what looks like fear lining them. 

God, here goes nothing I guess.

“Um, hey there...buddy. H-how’s it going?”

“Rick,” Morty starts, voice unusually soft and just a touch hoarse.  
“I’m....alright, I guess. I’ve uh been put on a lot of meds and haven’t gotten a good night sleep in over a week, so, I was uh just gonna take a nap.” he sighs. 

Oh. Guess he needs his time alone. Whatever, Rick doesn’t care.

“Well, uh.. just, ya know, come get me if you need anything.” 

Ok, maybe he cares a little. But, the sooner Morty gets this thing out of his system, the sooner they can go back to adventures, which have been piling up since his absence.

“Uh, ok, Rick. I will.” Morty says as he falls down onto his pillow.

Rick turns to leave, feeling awkward and jittery. Morty waits until he hears Rick’s steps retreating downstairs to slip in his ear buds. He takes a long sigh as he listens:

So please, hurry, leave me, I can’t breathe,  
Please don’t say you love me,

He can’t hold in the fresh tears that spill over his eyes and down his cheeks, wetting his pillow. 

Everything was going fine. Ok, well, everything was adequate, until Rick came to see him. 

Always attached to him like some blood sucking parasite, like the whisper of a nightmare he has every night. Morty just wanted to take control, take away this one thing from Rick, to finally escape his clutches the only way he could. 

Contrary to what Rick would have people think, Morty isn’t an idiot. He knows that he’s Rick’s crutch, carrying the one bout of knowledge he doesn’t possess: emotional intelligence. 

But Morty, not only fed up with it, has fallen in too deep. Their toxic codependent relationship became too much for Morty’s poor soul to bare. Rick could have anything he wants, can do anything he wants. Morty tried to stop him from taking the last part of him Rick hadn’t clasped with his greedy, unforgiving hands. Morty’s heart. 

Although it was widely accepted by the Smith family that Rick and Morty weren’t your typical grandfather and grandson, Morty never expected to have these feelings for him. For someone he shared blood with. These feelings he couldn’t make disappear, that made him feel sad and confused and disgusted. But also, felt so natural, like they were two souls tethered together for eternity. 

But Morty couldn’t even fucking die without that bastard interfering. And that’s how he knew, after spending the last 10 days thinking about nothing but it, that he’d give everything to Rick if he asked. But what scared Morty more than anything, was the thought of Rick actually asking for it. 

He didn’t know how he could face him anymore, hang out, go on adventures, save the universe or whatever, without crumbling at his feet, without confessing his every sin. Without telling him he loved him. 

Morty thinks it’s probably better to just get some sleep. He really thought he couldn’t live like this, that he shouldn’t have to, but some sick god who’s probably his grandpa decided that this life was somehow worth suffering through.

————————————————————————

Morty jolts awake at the sound of clinking bottles and muffled swearing. He checks his phone, 1:14am. Great, he slept all the way through dinner, not that he actually wanted it anyways.

He searches for his discarded jeans in the dark of his room, time for a midnight snack, he guesses. 

Of course he knows Rick is down there, and maybe that’s why he’s doing this. He can’t resist the man’s magnetic pull. He has to see him right now, or he might die. Quite the switched up way of thinking about it, he notes. That’s exactly what makes these feelings so dangerous. 

He makes himself at least a little proper and treads lightly down the stairs. He sneaks in the kitchen, where Rick is rummaging through the fridge. 

Morty stops in the threshold to stare at him, now waiting for Rick to notice him. Eventually he turns around, slow and staggered, obviously intoxicated. 

“M-urp-orty!” Rick burps out as he sways his way over to the boy. He drapes one arm around Morty’s shoulder, reeking of alcohol. Morty attempts to get free, but Rick just holds him tighter against him. Morty is terrified, he can maybe deal with a regular Rick with his current mental dilemma, but not a drunk one! 

Especially when drunk Rick is uncharacteristically affectionate. It’ll take all of Morty’s strength not to fall on his knees at one ounce of praise. 

“Um, R-rick, you’re holding me too tight, w-would you let me go please?”

“I...don’t think..so buddy. Haven’t seen you in...in DAYS.”

Rick leads them into the living room, over to the couch. When Rick loosens his arm around him, Morty takes the opportunity to step further away, attempting to sit on the far side of the sofa, only to have Rick grab around this waist and pull him into his lap as he lays across couch. 

“Oh no you -urpp- don’t, Mooorty. We’re gon-urrp-na spend some quality time together.”

Well, now this is very awkward. Especially the arm clasped protectively around his stomach, and the subsequent boner beginning to tent his pants.

Morty just stays there as still as possible as Rick turns on the TV, some nonsensical commercial playing, drowning in Rick’s warmth and slow, deep breaths. Rick takes this silence as his chance to speak up.

“Ya know, I really missed you, pal, little -urp- buddy. Missed...going -urp- on adventures with you- WHOA! Gosh, you’re so soft!” Rick says as he begins stroking Morty’s hair. 

The boy tries his best to say anything useful, but the feeling of Rick touching him so tenderly and innocently is begging to lull him back to sleep. 

Apparently, Rick felt the same way, because Morty hears his telltale snoring a few moments later. He makes quick work of removing himself from his current spot on top of Rick. 

He takes a second the look over him, passed out drunk on the couch. It was somewhat peaceful, it calmed Morty. Despite the overwhelming yearning he felt at the sight, it was a welcoming image that made him feel like things were still as they always were, their normal. 

Morty carefully grabs the throw blanket that’s hanging on the back of couch and gently drapes it across Rick. Morty stands there for a hesitant moment before he decides to press a small kiss on his wrinkled forehead. 

He quickly rushes upstairs to deal with the tears stinging the backs of his eyes. He sprints into the bathroom and takes a long, shaky breath as he leans against the counter. There are too many emotions swirling around in his head. He can’t find any rational thought. 

On a whim, Morty opens the cabinet underneath the sink, hoping his parents weren’t cautious enough to remove any potentially harmful objects around the house. Lucky for him, he finds a pair of scissors within a small first aid kit. He turns them over in his hands, contemplating where to start. 

He hastily gets out of his jeans, looking down at his pale, exposed legs. He sits down on the bath mat, legs stretched out in front of him. He begins to drag the tip slowly across his thigh, before giving out a series of more sharp and fast scrapes. He watches as the lines raise and redden. 

He goes back in, this time making sure to press as far in as he can bare as he slices. He stops to see some of the scratches starting to bleed. Fucking fantastic.

But, if thats all he can produce with some measly scissors, he’s gonna need something sharper to quench his urges. He checks the shower for Summer’s razor. It’s hanging on the shower caddy, beckoning to him. Morty swipes it up and hurries to sit back down on the bathroom floor. 

He begins to press the razor into his other thigh, harshly swiping it across his skin. Thrillingly, this seems to cut his flesh more effectively. He continues his slicing until the blood starts to spill down his legs, threatening to drip and stain the light purple bath mat beneath him. 

Morty reaches for the toilet paper, crumpling it up to dab at his fresh wounds. He reopens the cabinet under the sink in search of the first aid kit he originally found the scissors in. Taking it out, he finds several large bandaids and gauze. 

He makes work of cleaning himself up, wiping his legs down with a wet wash cloth as he covers each spot up to clot. When done, Morty completely falls back against the floor, releasing a big, contented sigh. 

He isn’t sure why this type of stuff is considered bad when it feels this good. Morty smiles, feeling like he was just overcome with the best orgasm of his life. 

He slowly gets up, making sure to leave no trace of what just occurred, except the eventual scars that will litter his legs. He quietly makes his way back to his room, high on adrenaline, ready for the best night sleep he’s had in what feels like years as he crashes into his bed. He falls asleep the second he burrows under his covers, grin still painting his face.


End file.
